Musicalrain's Ipod Extravaganza
by Musicalrain
Summary: Five random songs from my playlist, with five matching short stories. DAO & DAII. 500 word minimum per song. Pairings include: Anders/F!Hawke, Alistair/F!Cousland, Isabela/F!Hawke, Leandra/Malcolm, and some sibling rivalry between M!Hawke and Carver. Rated T for language and suggestive content.


**Ipod ****Shuffle ****Extravaganza**

Cold – Feel it in you heart "Can you feel this in your heart? Can you take it to your soul? I don't want you to pretend. I don't want to be alone."

Anders romance scene 501 words

He wanted her, and Maker be damned but he needed her.

Three years he's been aching for her. Dreaming of her soft smile and teasing glint to her ocean-blue eyes as he held her. Thinking of how her pouting pink lips and silky raven hair would feel under his fingers. Pondering how her generous soft curves would fit in the palms of his broad hands. Considering how her lithe, tall frame would feel pressed against his strong, warm chest. And now, here she was – his dreams made real, and yet he doubted.

Perhaps it was due to Justice's warnings, the spirit's insistent nagging that Hawke – _his __Hawke_ – was a distraction that was better left aside. Maybe it was his own imaginings of low self-worth. For how could a Hightown noblewoman ever love him? How could a talented and mischievous archer ever want him? _Him_, a Darktown apostate with barely two coppers to his name. And a former Warden to boot.

He sighed heavily, and felt a tremble start at his scalp and work its way down his body as he asked her if she was certain. Asked the woman who left her door open for him and her heart, if she was sure she wanted this – wanted him.

She smiled warmly and her eyes glittered as she assured him, that _yes_ she was certain, that _yes_ she wanted him, wanted to be with him. That she wasn't going to cast him out of her home, out of her arms.

He felt his entire being warm with a happiness he wasn't sure he could ever achieve.

He reached for her, took her into his arms as he'd been aching to do. He buried his chiseled, stubble-marked face into the crook of her neck and breathed in deeply of a scent of lavender, cherries, and something entirely and purely _Hawke_. This woman, she was perfect. And by the Maker, if she was earnest about her feelings – he could die a happy man that very moment.

As he pulled back from her and looked into her gaze, his eyes still glittered with a hint of uncertainty, a wisp of self-doubt. She calmly took his hand, warm in her own cooler touch, and led him to her bed, and her eyes answered his fears with a sparkle of certainty and assurance.

And as she wordlessly pulled him into a heated lover's embrace, that's where he felt it – he felt at _home. _Safety, belonging, acceptance, and dare he admit it aloud, but by Andraste, he felt _loved_. Something he feared was gone from his life, and he would never quite know. Something he did not know he craved until that very moment. Something he craved to show her, with an aching that rivaled all that he had felt prior to that moment.

_Hawke. _He loves Hawke, and only can pray that she returns his feelings just as strongly, as his lips meet hers in a fevered declaration of his realization.

…...

Yellowcard – Believe "Think about the hero saving life in the dark. Climbing higher through the fire time was running out. Never knowing you were going to be coming down alive. But you still came back for me."

Alistair reunites with Warden Cousland 558 words

Alistair looked up at the looming tower the Archdemon had landed on during a lull of darkspawn at the city's gates. _Elissa's __up __there_, he thought, _Elissa's __up __there __alone_. Cold fear threatened to grab hold of his heart, and dig its icy claws there forever. But he wouldn't let it, for he knew without a doubt that Elissa was strong. That she would not falter. All he had to do was believe in her, and believe that the Archdemon could be defeated, and they would succeed.

He felt his thoughts uncomfortably returning to the night at Redcliffe castle before they had left for Denerim. When his sweet Elissa had come to him that night, he could only look at her for a few tense moments as he processed her request – that he join with Morrigan in bed. Her chocolate-colored hair was out of its normal coils of braids to hang loose around her shoulders. Her large doe-shaped eyes were red with stress and worry, the aquamarine color of them dulled in the wake of her obvious fatigue. Her wiry and strong frame seemed even smaller out of her armor, and spiked a protectiveness in him as he gazed at her vulnerable form without her plate and leather. He had sighed, resolute in his decision to see her radiance returned to her. He would do what she asked of him, but only for her. Only for his wife.

They weren't married yet, but he'd like to think of her as his wife. As his Queen. Oh, how he ached for her at that moment as he returned from his memories. Ached to hold her close and protect her from the Archdemon's flame and the darkspawn's blades. To protect her from the sickening reality that surrounds him. He could see it – the flame. He could see each fiery breath the Archdemon released even from the distance that he stood. And with each breath he worried evermore.

When a blinding light pierced through the sky, and a shock-wave ripped through the air, Alistair felt the cold hand of fear again as it struggled to take hold. He would not let it. He would stand strong for her, for his love. When the dust settled and the darkspawn retreated, they all knew – the Archdemon was defeated. Cheers and hollers deafened the air around him, as Alistair's gaze was returned to the spot where his Elissa had prevailed. She had done it – she had done what many believed was impossible. He could scarcely believe it himself. Now he only had to believe the witch's ritual worked and saved his love from death's grasp.

When Zevran came through the gates holding Elissa to his chest, he feared the worst. He ran to her, and embraced her limp body as the Antivan released her form to her lover's care. Wynne wearily walked up, having been atop the tower herself, and explained that Elissa was stable but unconscious. Alistair ran his gore-covered metal-encased hand through his love's loose and messy locks, and felt her stir. He repeated the action, and when her eyes opened blearily to look upon him, tears formed in his eyes. He clutched her closer to him and murmured for her ears alone, "I wasn't sure... I didn't know... But you came back. You've come back to me."

…...

Katy Perry – California Gurls "You could travel the world. But nothin' comes close to the Golden Coast."

Hawke really likes the Wounded Coast 505 words

Hawke _giggled_, oh Maker, but all she could do when the Rivaini Pirate Queen gave her that smoldering, mischievous smirk was giggle in pure excitement and giddy anticipation of the pirate's plans. Isabela had kidnapped her, had whisked her away, and she was oh so _thankful_. He mother really had no right to set her daughter up for luncheon dates with the snobby, highborn noble-_brats_ of Kirkwall's nobility. All the men had clammy, pasty, uncalloused, manicured hands, and, well, the wrong equipment to ignite her Deep Roads, so to speak. The sarcastic apostate much rather preferred the rough, strong, weather-worn hands of the dark-skinned, and generously curvy Rivaini woman dragging her out of the city's gates to wherever she had planned to take her.

Hawke looked down at her own sun-darkened bronzed hand, as her fingers twined with those of her pirate friend's, and felt her giddiness return full-force as she remembered just what her mother had complained of that very morning. _Paleness_ was all in fashion, as a result of the ever growing trend of powder-caked faces from Orlais, and her mother had complained that she spent too much time out in the sun, and wouldn't she at least cover herself more or bring a parasol when she went out? Hawke scoffed aloud at her own musings. Her father had darker skin than her mother, and she highly doubted that even if she were to spend weeks indoors as her mother desired, her skin would hardly lighten. She loved her bronzed skin.

Isabela pulled on the Ferelden's hand, and commented that she was thinking, when she should be taking in the sights and enjoying herself. And, as it turned out, the two women were now walking on a path that went from pea-sized gravel to sand, and there it was – the Wounded Coast.

Hawke giggled again. She _loved_ the Wounded Coast. Sure, she didn't think that the coarse sand of the Coast littered with the debris from countless shipwrecks could even compare to those that Isabela had seen as a pirate captain during her various travels, but it was paradise to the small-town farm-girl that she was. She couldn't even accurately picture the pristine sands of Antiva City, or the aquamarine expanses of ocean that surrounded Rivain. They sounded surreal in comparison to the sometimes rocky, and mostly dangerous coast the women now walked along.

They found a mostly debris-free section of coast and sand near an outcropping of rocks, and plopped themselves down on the sun-baked expanse. Hawke lay on her back, hands groping the sand, toes free of their confines and doing the same, as her view of the blue, cloudless sky was blocked by the dark and bejeweled face of her friend, and occasional lover.

Isabela smirked that smirk again, stretched her legs to straddle the more petite woman now trapped beneath her, rear-end in the air, and declared that one day she would take the other woman to see the golden expanses of coast her homeland was infamous for.

…...

Adam Lambert – If I had you "That would be the only thing I ever need. Yeah, if I had you, then money, fame and fortune never could compete."

Leandra and Malcolm 512 words

She loved these events, and she lived for them. The lavish parties with their flair and pomp were her element.

Leandra took extra care to ensure her appearance was just right. She had sent her mother's servants away, preferring to apply the khol to her eyes and the rouge to her fair cheeks herself. She took the time to comb her raven locks to shining perfection, and allow them to hang loose about her face to emphasize her long and delicate features. Some would assume that she had gone to all this extra preparation simply because this was her engagement ball, and she wanted to make an impression. Which was true, but she did not want to make an impression on DeLauncet, her betrothed, but rather on one of the magical entertainers the DeLauncet family had been able to procure for the evening – Malcolm Hawke.

The mere thought of him set nervous butterflies to settle in her stomach, and her face to heat with color. Ever since she decided to venture to the Gallows Markets on her own and met the mage there after she had seen him perform for the Viscount, she had felt this way. There was something there. Something electrifying and exciting all the same. She was certain he felt it too. They were fortunate that the Templars allowed the affluent families to have mages in their employ for their events, and even more fortunate that Malcolm had been alloted to entertain. She missed him dearly, and often wished it was his arms around her as she danced at these parties, and not DeLauncet's.

Was it love? Leandra liked to think it was. It had to be what she felt when he sneaked a passionate kiss to her lips that left her burning for hours. Or what she felt when they held hands, and he smiled that smile just for her. Even when they sneak off to the back of the Chantry after evening prayer service, and engaged in more risqué activities. But she sighed aloud as she fumbled with the clasp of her silver gem encrusted necklace. This entire situation was unbearably unfair; that they couldn't be together. She was to marry DeLauncet, and he was in the Circle. They knew this, but yet their secret affair continued.

Wistfully, she added a simple silver hawk brooch to her embroidered corset. It was a gift of Malcolm's, and it allowed her to display her feelings for him despite their situation. She knew she could be happy with him. She knew he could be happy with her given the chance.

She would gladly give up all her material possessions if it were to mean they could be together. Her Orlesian perfumes, her silk and satin slippers, her sapphire carved earrings, even her silken, ornate party dresses – she would give up everything for love. And as she added the final touches to her ensemble, she realized that she did – she loved Malcolm Hawke. She would do anything, and give up everything to see that they could be together.

…...

Apocalyptica – I don't care "Just go and leave this all behind. Cause I swear I don't care. Try to make you see my side. I always try to stay in line."

Hawke and Carver sibling rivalry 657 words

_Carver's complaining like a bitch, again, _thought Hawke as he sat on his lumpy, ill-fitted cot in the room he and his brother shared in their uncle's hovel. Carver was pacing from wall-to-wall in the small space, clearly agitated at being denied admittance to the Guard, again. Hawke silently prayed to the Maker for the patience needed to tolerate his brother's stubbornness and, he'll admit it even if his brother won't, his ignorance.

"You'll wear a hole through the floorboards within an hour at this rate," he couldn't resist the jab at his younger brother. Aveline was right, he is a bit of a twit.

Carver stopped his pacing abruptly, clearly forgetting his apostate brother was still in the room, and raked an aggravated hand through his loose raven hair. "Why should I give a bronto-sized shit about Gamlen's floors?"

Hawke shrugged and leaned against the crumbling paint of the wall behind him, fully anticipating a long, drawn-out talking-to with his brother. "He provided us with a roof when we had nowhere to go," he drawled.

"Yes," Carver hissed. "And he spends all our coin we're saving for mother on drink and whores."

"It's no more than what _you_ do," Hawke countered. He saw the look change darkly in his brother's eyes as he hit upon that flaw in his brother's character. It, in no small amount, amused Hawke that the only women his brother could get to bed, were the paid-for kind. Sure both of the brothers had spent the night alone with Isabela once or twice before, but she didn't require coin for her services. Hawke knew it irked his brother that he could flaunt his smile at any tavern, and have quite a number of tavern wenches eager, and willing to accompany him home. It was those nights, when his brother had locked him from their room, that Carver regretfully took coin from the expedition's stash to spend the night at the Rose.

He felt he had no choice, for his meager dignity would not allow him to sleep on the rough, split floors of the hovel. And he said as much, "That is your fault!"

Hawke smirked, "Now it is my fault that you cannot get the attention of women without coin?" He knew he was just picking on his brother now, but he felt it was in due order, for he had been made to suffer Carver's complaining, more so than usual, as he kept unsuccessfully applying to the City Guard. Really, if he was serious about wanting to be a guardsman, wouldn't he address the faults that prevented his admittance, instead of simply resubmitting an application?

"Next you're going to be claiming that it is my fault you cannot get into the Guard," Hawke said as he crossed an ankle over a knee.

Carver glowered and crossed his arms over his broad chest, "Why do you do this? Why do you always act like you're better than me?"

Hawke knew better than to take the bait, "Why do _you_ always do this? Complain. Blame other's for your problems. Take charge of your own life brother, for I can't hold your hand forever."

Carver turned his nose upward, "You do _not_ hold my hand."

"Don't I?" Hawke raised a brow, "_I _take things seriously, whereas you don't._ I_ head our family, and make the important decisions. _I _am the one that decided to take Varric's offer. _I _am the one that has protected you from your own foolhardy ideas." He uncrossed his legs and looked directly at his brother, "When will you grow up and be a _man_, brother? I cannot be the only one in this family."

Carver uncrossed his arms, clenched his fits in his ever present anger, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door in his wake. Hawke sighed loudly, recrossed his legs, and muttered to himself, "Fine. Leave if you must. I'm forgetting why I care."

...

_Note: That last one was so difficult to write. I'm such a Carver fangirl, and it was hard to be mean to him. :/ I hoped you all enjoyed! If you notice any troublesome typos, please let me know! Thank you! You're all awesome! :D_


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